


Mended

by zeldadestry



Category: A Midsummer Night's Dream - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 04:29:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8875960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldadestry/pseuds/zeldadestry
Summary: "A life among humans requires much courage."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bardsley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bardsley/gifts).



> Title taken from Puck's line: "Think but this, and all is mended-"
> 
> bardsley, I hope you enjoy the story! 
> 
> Happy 2017 to all!

Magic fades.

I know that, now.

It took me hundreds of years to notice it, because it happens slowly.

I cross oceans in hours these days, not minutes, but at least I can still fly.

 

This is not my usual sort of neighborhood, not the typical type of place I may haunt at night. The houses are big and the cars parked in their garages are fancy, you would think there would be little my favors could do for them. And yet, I have heard a voice, a mournful voice, saying, “I am so tired.”

I lift a hand and the glass of the window vanishes. I pass through the empty space and, once I am inside, the glass returns as though it never altered at all.

The house tells its story to me. Pets and plants and even cherished mementos, any of them may speak to me, explain. Here it is a little dog that prances and dances in circles around me until I understand. The mother is dead, after an illness. The father worries endlessly over their young son. Nightmares visit them both. “It is a simple spell,” I assure the dog. “Simple, and yet, powerful, for it will last as long as they need it, not just for tonight, but for many nights to come.”

I stay until daybreak nears, just to assure myself that I have done the job right. In both bedrooms, a soul sleeps peacefully, for hours.

I wave to the dog before I leave and he wags his tail at me.

I understand thank you in all languages. 

 

I was Oberon’s perfect jester. No one could make him smile as broadly, or laugh as loud and as long, as I could. He loved me. And I loved him. And yet- even after centuries at his side, at his beck and call, when he decided to return to our realm, I wanted to stay here. He gave me the freedom to choose for myself, and I will always be grateful for that. I will always be grateful, though I sometimes wonder if I made the right choice. 

Without him, my tricks and pranks lost most of their charm. There was no more applause, no more delight to savor in his eyes. Comedy is better shared, I guess. 

I was lonely, without him. Very lonely. And so my games changed. Where once I would’ve broken, I sought to fix. I work in secret, usually, but I can always hide myself and thereby see their reactions when they discover my gifts.

 

Titania stayed longer than her husband did. Her brief encounter with Nick Bottom had a curious effect on her, once she recovered from the shock of his horse’s head. Humans, especially human men, became her fascination. 

We are powerful, in our way, but, even at their heights, our powers have limits. We can strew the path of a life with sharp pebbles or with fragrant flowers, but we can not change its direction. Titania fell in love time and time again but, while she stayed young, her darlings inevitably aged, weakened, and, finally, died. I can understand why she, too, eventually retreated to our realm.

A life among humans requires much courage.

 

What have you lost or had taken from you? Keys, a wallet, your cellphone, a favorite ring? If I hear you asking for it, I will bring it back to you, if I can.

Has a pet wandered from home? I will guide them back, if I can.

Is the money in the bank a little less than what you need to cover this month’s bills? I can make sure you receive a check from winning a raffle you don’t even remember entering. 

These are small rescues, but they are what I have to offer.

Fairies can not feel gratitude, but I can recognize it in you. I like it. I feel warm in its presence.

 

Sometimes, I still give in to fancy. I pass a carousel, and I have to stop. I wait, until everyone is seated on their special creature, and then, as the lights flash and the music plays, I clap my hands together once. Every carving springs into life. Tigers roar and horses whinny and dragons expel flames. The crowd gasps, every child cheers, and then, just a moment later, I clap my hands again. People are left shaking their heads, whispering to each other, “Did you just- I thought I saw- but I couldn’t have- that couldn’t have happened- right?” 

I like to imagine such moments stay with their audiences- a fantastic interlude- suggesting that there may be much more that is possible than they previously realized.

 

I visit art museums the way some people may look back through photo albums. I use portraits and sculptures to remind me of some of the friends I have made, to feel again, however faintly, what I once felt in their presence. 

Today there is a young woman, standing in front of a painter’s self-portrait. I knew the man. I liked him. I draw closer to her. She looks sad. Someone has hurt her, betrayed her trust, and she finds herself filled with doubt. Still, she lets me stand beside her, so that our shoulders brush. She will probably be surprised, when she remembers this later, that she accepted my presence. She may ask herself, “How could he seem so familiar to me, like an old friend? He was a stranger.”

But I am a stranger to no one, not really. I am Puck, and they recognize me, even if they never realize it.

“I love this painting,” she murmurs, “but, I always wonder, was he as kind as he looks?”

“He was,” I answer.

She turns to me and smiles. “How could you know that? We were both born long after his death.”

I smile back at her. “Do you believe in immortality?”

“No.”

“Reincarnation?”

“Possibly.”

“Well, then, there you are.”

She laughs and I can’t resist bowing to her before I walk away.

 

A painting, a poem, a cat’s purr, how humans can sometimes offer a sincere smile even with tears in their eyes.

For me, this magic stays.


End file.
